Shopping in an Italian Megamart Can Be a Scene from a Bad Italian Movie

Four straight days I’ve visited the Lucca supermarket, PAM. Discos and supermarkets, the crazy carousel of life on the road never stops. For some unplanned reason that must be fate or a minor religious miracle (are there non-religious miracles?), I have ended up with the same checker every day.

Her name is Laura B. and I’m starting to get excited by the faded, green smock, top two buttons undone because of the heat or a provocative fashion statement, covering that sturdy fleshy frame, muscles and softness and dark hair. Anyway, she begins by asking me what she asks all customers, day after day after customer ad nauseum. I’m sure it is the Italian equivalent of “Do you have a PAM frequent shopper card?”

I used to have a PAM card but, sadly, Pam withdrew my frequent shopper privileges. Sigh. Returning my thoughts to the lovely Laura B. The first three times, she held out her hand and asked for my card. And three times, under my Wimbledon baseball cap, I smiled and said no but my eyes were saying, yes.

Tonight, she started to ask the question and then looked up to see my smiling face. She rolled her eyes, stopped in mid-sentence and pretended to ignore me. How many times have I seen that with women! Toy with me Laura B. I’ll be back and you’ll be waiting with the tousled raven hair and the green blouse open to the third button. It is just a matter of time.

Sigh. Tempus fugit. And so must I, before security is involved.

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